


denizen of the shadows.

by arurun



Series: not so human after all. [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Aomine Daiki Being an Asshole, Dark, Fluff, Game becomes Reality, Gaming, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Protective Generation of Miracles, and make them have issues, but they suck, in which the miracles actually have powers, the miracles are family ur argument invalid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 00:50:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20349616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arurun/pseuds/arurun
Summary: In which there's a little more to the Generation of Miracles than just talent and effort. Something like a sickness that can't be cured... something that no one would believe if they asked for help.Something like a game.They learn to live with it. They adapt.





	1. it starts slow.

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi! here comes a dark GoM story that's pretty much just canon with a twist. Well, I mainly wrote this for fun anyways so it... might or might not make sense? well, hope whoever reads this enjoys. 
> 
> This story's premise is actually based off my CPN (which I write on Wattpad), called Rulekeeper. Don't worry, no prior knowledge of that is needed to read this. It's basically a mobile rpg game that comes to life amongst a few people (seven people, coincidentally, and then I realized that the roles kinda fit knb characters so I joined the dots and this story was born). But in this story's case, they decide they'll try and live with it instead of killing each other, because like, uhh, friends, y'know?
> 
> onwards!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is fun at first.
> 
> It's fun until it starts hitting home a little too close.

It starts slow.

“Hey, I got a hyper rare rank job.” 

To everyone’s surprise, the first one to get addicted to the game was Midorima. 

The one to suggest the game had been none other than Nijimura, but the man himself had come nowhere near the rest of them. The rainbow-haired six took to the game quickly, going as far as to bet against victories and cash in for in-app purchases. 

“What?!” Aomine shoots up from his own phone, “lemme see!”

“No way, did you get to Level 100 already?” Kise stands up, sounding ready to cry from _ no fair _, “I’ve been busy with work so I couldn’t--” 

Sitting around the table at an udon house, Momoi had just given their orders when everyone’s attention whirled to the green-haired boy. His phone chimed in a familiar tune, and then Kise and Aomine were all over him, struggling to steal a look into his phone.

Kuroko peeks over the green-haired boy’s shoulder, being tactically sat next to him.

“I only gain experience faster because my job is a monk,” Midorima denies his addiction, not for the first time, “I gain EXP by being complacent.”

Midorima shoves Kise away by the face, and turns his phone so Kuroko could get a better look. Kuroko pouts, a little jealous, but reads out the notification for the table to hear.

**『 Congratulations! 』 **

**You have achieved the Hyper Rare Rank job: 「Pivot 」**

** 『 Accept job change? 』 **

**YES ⋆ NO**

“Pivot?” Aomine repeats, “the heck’s that?”

“You don’t know?” Midorima says, exasperated. Aomine shoots him an angry look, but he simply fixes his glasses and explains, “a pivot is central point of a turning.”

“Huh?” Aomine looks at him dumbly, as if Midorima was speaking alien.

Kuroko has the game booted on his phone, and if Aomine sees him start grinding levels, he speaks nothing of it. Kise was doing the same in the other corner, but his attention was still lifted to the conversation.

Midorima’s irked, but he tries again, “when you feint against an opponent in basketball, you put your weight on one foot to do a sharp turn or spin. That foot is called the pivot foot.”

“Ohhh,” Aomine understands and Midorima knows it’s because he used a basketball scenario. Aomine doesn’t look much less confused when he asks, “what kind of job is that?”

That’s when Midorima falls silent too.

Murasakibara’s snacks were put aside and Momoi has her laptop opened on the desk as she types at a speed that leaves the purple-haired boy in awe. 

Akashi sits by the side, downing the rest of his water in silence. “Any clue, Momoi?” the redhead looks toward the pink-haired girl, who hums confusedly. 

“No,” she reports, but she sounds more interested than depressed by her failed research, “I’m not getting any news of a ‘Hyper Rare ranked job’ either… even though the game is rather popular, which is strange.”

For Momoi to fail in finding information? That was serious.

“Could it be that Midorimacchi is the first to get it?” Kise whirls, up and alert, and _ so _ jealous.

All eyes were on Momoi now, and Midorima’s glasses-fixing is to hide his excitement, they bet.

“I would think so too, but,” Momoi lifts her head, “it’s strange that not even official sites have any news about this. You’d think the developers would announce this as a sort of special, hidden feature, wouldn’t they?”

There was only a weird silence before Aomine laughs, “that means this is one _ crazy _ hidden feature, right? C’mon, Midorima, accept it already, let’s see what it does!”

“What,” Midorima is snapped out of the previous revelation, “no, what would I do if the job is useless? You know job changes are not possible in any other situation… no, NO! what have you done!?”

Aomine leans over and gingerly pokes on the YES, before bolting back to his seat, cackling wildly.

Midorima’s screams of utter horror in that very moment would forever be held against him as blackmail material. 

Aomine throws a half-hearted apology at the shooting guard, who looks like he’s debating between breaking down into incoherent sobs or tearing the ganguro’s throat out right there.

Kuroko and Akashi burst into soft giggles, and somehow, that’s worth every risk Aomine’s ever taken.

Midorima doesn’t talk to Aomine for the rest of their meal, but the very next day, when Aomine is met with the exact same situation, Midorima gets his revenge.

Kuroko gets his own Hyper Rare job a week after that. 

Momoi still can’t find anything about them on any database in the world-- but then she gets a ‘hyper rare’ job of her own, and she stops trying. 

Perhaps, this was a new update. But then, that didn’t explain why Momoi couldn’t find any information on it, nor did it explain how the rest of the miracles were getting these apparent ‘Hyper Rare’ jobs one after another.

Thinking back, Kuroko wonders if it was an infection. A contagious illness, spreading over them like crawling mites that wouldn’t stop until everything was rotted through and gone.

On better insight, maybe they should’ve deleted the game long before that.

-

“Flavor Text?”

Kise and Momoi go around the rest of them on the way to the convenience store. It’s been a long day, and Aomine’s basket count just gets higher each day.

“What that, is it yummy?” Aomine groans, a yawn stretching out of him.

“I hope it’s sweet,” Murasakibara mumbles, crunching on his maiubo.

“No, it’s not food!” Momoi pouts, “it’s the fancy text written as your job’s description. Like how my old one was ‘_ to leave my mark in history _ ’,” Momoi recites, “and my current one, for Cyber Surfer, is ** _I live in the core of an infinite world_ ** _ . _”

At that, everyone stares at her blankly, not too sure how to make of it.

At this point, all six of them had a Hyper Rare job, but aside from a strange influx of incredibly strong items, nothing else was different. Midorima even mourns, thinking his old job was better in a way.

“It sounds cool,” Kuroko comments, and Momoi leaps with exaggerated gratitude, glomping him in an uninvited hug.

“The old one suited you,” Midorima offers, because it’s a well known fact that everyone just about worships Momoi’s study notes. But the new one… “but since your job is ‘Cyber Surfer’, I suppose ‘an infinite world’ is interpreted as the realm of data and information.”

“It suits you, I guess,” Kuroko concludes.

“Really?” Momoi beams, _ where are the sparkles and flowers coming from _, “thanks, Midorin, Tetsu-kun!” She doesn’t leap in for a hug, but the smile on her face brims with equal amounts of happiness.

“They’re so cool, right?” Kise is almost hopping around in joy, “Doppelganger’s is ** _your reflection is my illusion_ **. What do you think it means?”

Kise doubles back to realize they’ve walked off without him.

“Heyyy, listen to me!”

It seems everyone was picking out their phones now, curious. 

“** _They say I will change the lives of those I meet_ **,” Midorima says, “I’m a fate-turner,” he observes almost smugly. It’s evident he likes his, though his poker face is still.

“The Pivot is a strong character,” Akashi mutters, “your skill, the One-in-Twenty dice, is abnormally strong. I almost wish I had it instead.”

Momoi keeps a count of their winnings. In fact, this game proved more challenging and _ fun _ than basketball at times (though their love for basketball is heaps greater). Akashi towers above everyone at fifty wins, but Midorima is a close second simply because of his favourable skill.

“Not at all, yours is like a curse, which is hassling to go against,” Midorima folds his arms humbly, “most of us don’t last long enough to do anything against you, since your skill takes our HP just being in proximity.”

“Ever humble, Midorima,” Akashi says, not very amused.

“Denizen, ** _to dwell with the shadows_ **,” Kuroko reads out his. 

“What the,” Aomine shoots down to look at it, choking on laughter, “that fits you perfectly, I can’t--” Kuroko punches him in the gut, and he doubles over in agony.

“Even in a game, I don’t get to be in the spotlight?” Kuroko pouts, “my skill isn’t a combat skill either.” it seems fate had it hard for the blue-haired boy, because it seems he was stuck in a supporting role even in the realms of a game.

That wasn’t fair, boo.

“Hmm, I don’t really like mine,” Murasakibara mumbles moodily, turning his phone so Akashi could read it out for the rest of them.

“** _Everything in my path shall crumble to dust_ **, the Exterminator,” Akashi raises his eyebrows, “Murasakibara is a gentle giant, so there couldn’t be a less fitting position.”

“But it suits his large physique,” Aomine says from his spot, no offense intended, “and it is not wrong that he can destroy things. Remember when he shattered that desk in the locker room?”

Murasakibara doesn’t seem to like being reminded, his face set in a grimace as he crunched on his maiubo a little angrily. 

Kuroko looks up at the boy. “It also means Murasakibara-kun is the most reliable of us,” he says, “right?”

The flower that seems to sprout from his head _ maybe _means Murasakibara appreciates it.

“** _There is an order to everything in this world_ **,” Akashi speaks up, and everyone’s head spins in more alarm than surprise. Akashi smirks, “I think I like mine.”

Aomine shivers, “not funny, Akashi,” he shrugs forward.

“Does that mean Akashicchi is a guardian of rules?” Kise asks, then freezes dumbly, “oh. He was ‘Rulekeeper’, right?”

“That matches him so well it’s kinda scary,” Momoi agrees, taking the opportunity to cling closer to Kuroko while she spoke, “are these really coincidences?”

There’s silence.

They’ve been trying to ignore this ‘coincidence’ for ages-- after all, what were the chances of them all getting ‘Hyper Rare’ jobs one after another? If they matched up to their real selves, this was either a creepy virus or a programmed hack.

“Dai-chan, what’s yours?” Momoi changes the subject, and although everyone’s interest perked, Aomine’s sunk lower.

Momoi catches the boy’s phone when it’s tossed toward her. Her eyes catch the Flavor text before she could spruce into a lecture about treating girls right.

“The Dream Eater,” she reads slowly, and her tone sinks lower with each word, “** _all before me shall be devoured_ **.”

The silence that permeates them after that is deafening.

Aomine continues walking, but even Akashi stops to look sympathetically at Momoi. They shake it off, and continue on their way, but Momoi feels Kuroko pry the phone out of her fingers, before voicelessly handing it back to the tanned boy.

Momoi thinks of the way things are now-- the overwhelming victories, the devastated opponents, the players that don’t ever try playing against Aomine now--

No one speaks of the game after that, but Momoi prods at the fractures in their relationship, and tries not to cry.


	2. it begins to grow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins slow. If their overwhelming talent ground their gears,  
their Flavor Text run them to pieces.
> 
> One at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> Thanks so much for the notes and hits and uh, comments too you guys rly make me incredibly happy saljaldsi i love you guys thanks so much. Anyways, I have a [tumblr account](https://rueririn.tumblr.com/) and it contains more info on this AU (and some other AU and writing stuff I guess) so if uh, you'd like to, please do go check it out! I'd be overjoyed to see you there.

It begins to grow.

Aomine’s case had gone on long enough. At first, everyone thought it was some mad coincidence. Irony, fate’s wicked sense of humour.

The real terror came when they realized the game couldn’t be deleted. 

When they tried, it would come back, or simply refuse to be deleted. Once this spread around the rest of them, Momoi took time off the club to investigate. If this really was a virus, they would be better off tossing their phones and buying new ones.

Then the game appears on Kise’s brand new iPhone, too. The severity of their situation takes them by a storm, but it was too late now.

Aomine’s opponents stare back at him, as if they were looking at a monster. There was only crestfallen despair in their features, their muscles still capable of movement, but their hearts shattered so thoroughly they didn’t dare to try again.

Aomine makes entire basketball clubs disband by playing with them once.

He makes junior club members fearful of entering the first string, because practice with him was terrifying and so very useless. 

What he hates most of all is that he  _ enjoys _ it. He doesn’t.

It’s like a burning  _ need  _ in the pits of his stomach, a churning nausea, like hunger-- mad, wanting  _ hunger _ \-- it drives him mad, so he starts eating more during lunch. Starts playing harder at the street courts at night.

It subsides when he sees his opponents cry and wail and despair. It eases when he hears of a newly disbanded club. It smoothes over when he sees a senior club member hand in his resignation.

He throws up in the toilet, because he, he,  _ he _ is absolutely disgusting. 

He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like  _ breaking _ his opponents and he doesn’t like destroying them from the basketball he knows they all love as much as he does. He doesn’t mean to steal their  _ dreams _ from them.

** _All before me shall be devoured._ **

He starts skipping practice.

-

Momoi is caught sleeping in class often. That’s uncharacteristic of her, so one day Kuroko hears about it through the grapevine and decides to ask.

She’s been having dreams. Strange dreams of a formless, boundless world. 

Words and codes drape like infinite curtains around her, semi-transparent screens slide around until she finds herself before one of them-- it’s the news. It’s new information. Data is displayed in codes and pictures and compiled into form for her to organize into binders.

When she wakes up, she finds that very same data stocked neatly in a new folder on her laptop, and she only has to print them out.

(Day and night, it didn’t matter. She unwillingly spends every dream in that realm, and she makes use of the miracle each time.) 

She was the master of the world of binary, and information flows with each swing of her fingers. They dance around her, and spins into the most elegant, most pristine thread she has ever seen. She weaves them like a seamstress, and sings with the colours.

(The sleep is getting harder to fight. She’s getting solid hours of sleep, yet she still drifts off while her classmates chat around her. She blushes and apologizes.)

She sees her friends walk away from each other, the gears grinding sharply against every edge, and she watches as their newfound powers cause them to buckle to their knees in despair.

Then she realizes she wasn’t any better off.

(Momo-chan, you’ve slept the entire school day. Are you sure you’re okay?)

She’s gotten a solid ten hours last night. And yet, school starts and she sleeps the whole ten hours of that, too. She even missed club. 

Why were her fingers shaking? Her lips trembling? Her eyes sunken and her dark circles not decreasing? Her eyes strained against the light, and her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. She tries to stand up but she collapses, knees weak, muscles completely forgetting how to work, spasming against the cold tiles as she spends minutes just  _ breathing _ .

She doesn’t cry. She can’t find her voice to scream, to call for help.

Alone in the empty classroom she stares at the ground and she’s scared, scared,  _ scared _ because she can’t move her vision is filled with dark spots and her breaths are shallow, shallow,  _ shallow _ .

She regains movement after a while, but the scar remains tender in her chest. She finds herself in a hospital and she gets herself diagnosed because Kuroko tells her to.

** _I live in the core of an infinite world._ **

She begins to take medicine for narcolepsy.

-

For Kise, things were honestly never too different.

Like everyone, he had stopped playing the mobile game. But unlike everyone, Kise stops playing simply because he had no time for it. 

His fame was peaking. Offers were increasing; schedules were packing; slots were filling and pictures were taking. They were buckling him in for a rush so he’ll be able to get some off time once his exam seasons and basketball tournaments begin. 

He doesn’t want to skip school on top of it all (studying was important, even if he could skip club now) so he soldiers on even if he has to leave at the crack of dawn and come home after the house has gone to sleep.

He realizes just  _ how  _ stressed he is one day when he looks in the mirror and strangely, just doesn’t recognize himself.

It’s not the face or the hair or the figure. He looks the same as he remembers-- but his eyes are soulless, dark circles sunken into his eyelids. There’s a thinness he doesn’t recognize in his arms-- and a paleness to his skin that almost looks too sick. His lips are blue.

He stares at the mirror, horrified-- then the image changes.

And he’s back. Fresh, lively Kise Ryouta, with bright amber eyes the smile of angels. A perfectly defined jawline and alluring physique-- no.

No, this is wrong.

Kise only saw it for a second but he  _ knows _ . He knows that this isn’t the real him. The real him was the terrifying reflection he witnessed a moment ago-- and this-- this, whatever  _ this  _ is, isn’t him.

It’s a… it’s an illusion.

** _Your reflection is my illusion._ **

For a solid two months, Kise Ryouta has been his own doppleganger.

-

The trigger is clear for Akashi.

One moment he sees Murasakibara eating in the halls, and the next moment he doubles over, gasping and hard of breath. He’s rushed to the infirmary, but they can’t tell what’s wrong.

The next day, Akashi sees a man toss a can into the wrong trash bin and he almost stabbed him right then and there. Midorima now keeps sharp lucky items somewhere high and out of reach.

He gets headaches when the teacher is a little late to class. He doesn’t go to the cafeteria for lunch, because people run in the hallways, cut in the lines, and spill food by accident. And each time he sees it, his breath gets a little shorter, his chest a little tighter, and his heart a little slower.

It’s suffocating for him, this world.

At this point, none of them play the game. None of them even dare bring it up, and the topic was unspokenly taboo for them.

Nijimura is still unaware, but all of them tell him to never play that game again. They don’t explain it to him, and Nijimura has stopped trying to chase it.

The pain comes back when Akashi’s team loses their five-on-five. And the burning is so intense he’s carried to the nurse’s office and has to go home for the rest of the day. He’s ushered to the hospital but they deem the pain psychological.

He is given a day to skip school, but he can’t stay home. He gets a panic attack has to be sedated, and even after that he insists on making it to school.

Momoi links his attacks to several rule-breaking situations.

**There is an order to everything in the world.**

Akashi becomes the captain of the club, and becomes known as a demonic instructor.

-

Midorima didn’t actually realize his talent peaked.

He stays late after practice just to practice his high-arc shots, and it was one unsuspecting day that he decided to count his chances.

Of twenty shots, he would score nineteen. Of forty shots, he would score thirty-eight. And of sixty shots, he scores fifty-seven.

A perfect one-in-twenty chance.

Akashi finds Midorima just before he locks up the clubroom, staring blankly at his hands, and asks if anything was wrong. Midorima doesn’t even know where to begin. 

It happens for more than that. Once in every twenty days, he would get called on by the teacher much more often, which ruins his mood. Once in every twenty nights, he would toss and turn and not be able to sleep until the sun rose. Once in every twenty times, his snack would get stuck in the vending machine, or a necessary coin would roll too far under the machine.

This was ridiculous.

In the mobile game, his skill was an overpowered function. He only had a one-in-twenty chance of ever losing a fight, but if he did catch that miserable one-in-twenty, he receives repercussions many times worse.

One evening, Midorima misses a shot, and almost instantly a light far above his head looses from its bolts. Only sheer instinct made him avoid it, but the sight of that light bulb diving through his field of vision, brushing past his glasses and shattering not an inch from his foot-- that left a scar.

Midorima hesitated shooting for the longest time after that. It scared him, just like it scared everyone else. He hides it behind his unemotional facade but it  _ scares him _ . He can’t predict which in twenty he would miss, and which would possibly trigger a freak incident that may or may not take his life.

He might die just from one missed shot, and that’s a thought that haunts him in his nightmares.

Then Momoi compiles the data and he realizes something else.

The horoscopes. The horoscopes, Oha-Asa’s god-almighty divinations had chances to avert those disasters. He essentially worships the morning fortune telling corner from that time on, and no matter how much people stare at him for his dumb lucky items, it’s not enough to make him forget the paralysing fear of death.

** _They say I will change the lives of those I meet._ **

Midorima faintly realizes, that he himself was included.

-

Murasakibara’s were hard to ignore.

He would be casual, hand on his locker as he fixed his tie back on with one hand. He moves to close the locker door-- and it’s gone.

In the raw steel plating, an indent had corroded through the steel, a hand-sized hole through the metal. Murasakibara went nuts.

At first, it only happened on anything metal. Door knobs, window panes, basketball hoops when he went for a dunk (that had been dangerous, if not for Aomine’s quick notice, perhaps he may have broken a foot that day) so Murasakibara was so grandly restricted in many things. He would have to wait for someone to open the classroom door for him. He needed help to access his own locker.

But then things turned for the worst.

His pencils burst in his hand, and his own clothes got mildly singed while he put them on. He couldn’t hold a water bottle or even eat his godforsaken maiubo in peace. Basketballs aren’t affected and he doesn’t understand why, but he’ll take what he can get.

He begins having nightmares of twisting a man to pieces. He wears gloves when he’s not playing basketball (sometimes he plays with them on, if the coach allows) and even goes as far as to request permission slips to wear them in class.

_ It’s a pain _ , he’s heard so much more often saying. But who could blame him?

He devours candies and junk food like he’s a vacuum, and each day he accidentally corrodes something he finds himself  _ needing  _ more of it. He’s be grasping a handful of honey cookies and he would know it’s  _ not enough, not enough _ , ** I need more** .

** _Everything in my path shall crumble to dust_ ** .

What path? He just wanted to  _ live _ .

-

Kuroko perfects his style, and grows fainter each day. Sometimes, Midorima would blink and momentarily forget he was there at all. 

Playing in the street court at night, Kuroko doesn’t realize something is off, until a rather shaky shot go in. At first, he felt victorious-- but somehow, he doesn’t feel the rush of excitement.

It’s like his feelings have been muted, clouded--  _ shadowed over _ .

It’s a little scary.

The sunlight is harsh on him, maybe a little unnaturally, but he shoves it off as a simple case of his own lack of stamina. He just has to train harder, right?

He raises his hand for a fistbump.

But Aomine doesn’t even see him anymore.

One after another, they grow apart. They get stronger. He gets fainter, more transparent than ever before. It’s like everyone’s forgotten him, started to bypass and see him as insignificant-- like a shadow, he fades out and blends into the background.

People lose sight of him right before their eyes. He could stand beside someone for hours and they would never realize he was there. His hands become entirely see-through for half a second, but he passes that off as a trick of the light even if it’s happened twice or thrice.

It scares him more than anything else to realize that maybe one day, in this very same way, he’ll disappear completely. And he won’t come back, he’ll just stay invisible forever, and no one would even notice he was gone.

** _To dwell with the shadows._ **

It was only a matter of time.


	3. it falls apart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things escalate. Solutions are brought to them on a silver platter.
> 
> They don't take it.
> 
> So they starve.

It falls apart.

_ Or maybe, it’s already in pieces. _

No one can really tell when it happened. Was it when Aomine broke? Was it when the Coach collapsed? Was it when the Inter-High began?

_ Murasakibara and Akashi quarrels. _

That never happens, and that’s enough of an indication of how badly they were taking to the situation. Murasakibara isn’t doing any of his corroding on purpose, but Akashi hurts anyways. 

At this point, the first-stringers have asked and stopped asking about the Murasakibara’s-hand-shaped holes. Murasakibara pays for the damages (Akashi helps) and each time they asked again (they tried to turn it into a teasing rumour once. It didn’t end well) the other Miracles would shoot them a look that promised murder. 

Murasakibara considers quitting school altogether, but he doesn’t because his parents don’t understand, the adults don’t understand, and yeah, to be honest, Murasakibara doesn’t understand either. Something about how if people found this out, a hospital isn’t where he’s going.

He hides it as well as he can from his classmates, but people call him a monster simply because of his size. It really isn’t much of a difference.

_ Everyone’s sanity seemed to hang on a thread at this point. _

When Murasakibara finally snaps, it’s because he’s  _ trying _ , he’s trying so hard so why is Akashi acting like he’s the only one suffering from all this?

Akashi is trying too. He’s on medication just for  _ pain  _ and despite everyone he is soldiering on externally unfazed by everything. He doesn’t quit the basketball club. That’s because he is an  _ Akashi  _ and they, against everything and through everything, they don’t  _ lose _ . They always win.

So Akashi will win, even if the pain crescendos and he can’t stand on his own. Even if his insides twist and he thinks he’ll die from shock. Akashi will stand up and he will win, because that is the only thing acceptable.

_ That too, is simply the way things are supposed to be. _

There is an order to everything in this world, and never once has Akashi thought it false. In fact, that line itself was the motto he lived by. Rules are meant to be obeyed. Fate is meant to run its course. And he is meant to always be on the winning side.

_ That was the natural order of things. _

So when Akashi begins to  _ lose _ their one-on-one, something inside him snaps. This was ridiculous, this was impossible, this can’t be happening. This can’t be-- 

Something a little different from a nerve breaks off with a sharp clang. His ears ring loudly, and he has a second to brace himself before agony ruptures his chest.

His vision clouds over, and a horrifying gold claw grasps his heart-- and squeezes it to mince. Everything goes black, and Akashi Seijuurou was no more.

And for everyone else, normality officially ends.

-

“Who are you?”

The question is asked, and through the shaking knees and bewildered expressions, there is a muted horror in every heart as Akashi, not their Akashi, turns around and smiles.

An eye glows golden, and a terror they never knew settles in each of their hearts.

“I’m Akashi Seijuurou, of course.”

No one believes him.

“But I suppose, you are confused, Tetsuya,” there it was clear. There it became painfully clear, “after all, no one gave you a briefing before you were chosen to play the game.”

Everyone was frozen solid. Not metaphorically-- literally, physically, no one was able to move. Not even Murasakibara, and Aomine was evidently struggling.

No one could move an inch and no one could make a sound.

Except  _ Akashi _ .

“Do you suffer?” he asks, and expected no reply, “do you hate this game?”

Everyone knew what he was talking about. But at this frame of time no one cared. The only thing Kuroko wanted to do was to run over there, punch him, and demand he returned Akashi,  _ their Akashi _ to them right now.

How dare they use Akashi’s face, with such a repulsive voice, making such disgusting faces--

“What if I told you there was a way to end this all?”

And at that second, all resistance froze and all of them stopped, interest flowing through them in a hope they never thought was still there.

“There is a way to win this game, and it’s simple,” a finger held up, Akashi smiles eerily, in a way he would never usually smile.

And what came next, no one predicted.

“Kill everyone else and be the last one standing. That’s all there is to it.”

-

“Why did this have to happen?” Momoi’s voice, so soft and so hurt-- even hearing it made Kuroko want to lower his head and tear up. 

But he doesn’t. He can’t. Kuroko wouldn’t be able to cry if he tried. 

So Kuroko pretends he can’t hear her. He pretends not to see her tears. 

Pretends he didn’t go home and feel the need to tear his nails into his scalp because, if anything, he wanted to  _ feel _ something and if the only emotion he can make himself feel is  _ pain _ then so be it.

Kuroko loves basketball. Kuroko loved basketball.

He is a shadow. He is vital, a phantom sixth man so very important to their victory-- this is the only way he can play. This is the only way Kuroko can stand on the same ground as everyone else.

The price is simple. It isn’t a thundering, chronic pain like Akashi. It isn’t physically taxing like Momoi’s sleep attacks or Aomine’s temper-disrupting hunger pangs. It isn’t mentally breaking like Kise’s emotional disarray or Midorima’s obsessive disorder or Murasakibara’s anxious restlessness.

Kuroko is the opposite. 

Kuroko is cursed to  _ not feel _ .

So he watches everyone grow, one after another, ands he sheds no tears. He watches his friend break Ogiwara to pieces and he watches himself stare,  _ blankly _ , at that broken expression. He listens to that one guy he can’t remember the name of tell him, tell him that  _ Ogiwara quit basketball _ , and he can’t even force himself to react.

He stands by the wall of an alley and he can’t even feel  _ frustrated _ by this.

He bends to his knees and screams, if not from pain but from the lack thereof. He can’t feel anything. Not a thing, even though his mind tells him how sad and upset and shattered he’s supposed to be right now-- he doesn’t manage to show it.

Someone, something, something awful dragged a thick blanket over his heart and no matter how much he tries  _ he can’t get it off _ . 

-

Never once did they try to attack each other. 

“Play the game,” that fake Akashi had told them, “it’s as simple as a push of a button. You have your skills, so challenge each other to a PvP. If you lose three times, you’re out of the game. Easy, isn’t it?”

He didn’t explain what  _ out of the game _ meant, but everyone knew what it implied.

_ Death. _

But not once did they even dare to try.

Like an unspoken agreement, no one even experimented. If they did, they punched it out on the court. They talked it out and, where necessary and where capable, they tried to be  _ there _ for each other.

The game was sealed in the corner of their phones and everything in them scorned it. They would rather die than obey his very whims. No one ever mentioned it even when the aftereffects get too much to bear. Unanimously, they only got stronger.

They’ve lost Akashi. They still don’t know if it’s forever, but that man they have to call Captain is no longer the Akashi that despite being strict, cared for their well-being. No longer the Akashi that could occasionally be the most obsessive mother hen in history.

The club members notice something off, but they don’t ask. They never ask anymore, because there was no way they’d believe it if Aomine told them Akashi was being possessed by the mastermind of some supernatural phenomenon only happening around the seven of them.

No one would believe them.

They only have each other, and they didn’t think they could handle losing another one of them.

They stop talking to that Akashi that isn’t theirs, because whatever that monster’s power is, it renders them paralyzed before him in absolute obedience-- and no one can fight against him physically, or force him to  _ return _ their captain.

Akashi was gone and no one knew how to get him back.

So they run away.

-

Murasakibara learns how to suppress his abilities, so he comes around to not needing the gloves anymore. Aomine copes with the hunger, and not attending practice works well to maintain club unity. Momoi relies less on her abilities and has recently been able to get proper sleep at night. 

Kise takes time off work, and learns that a handy slap on the wrist never fails to change him back to his actual form. Midorima clings to lucky items on a daily basis, and has not been in mortal danger in many days. 

Kuroko fades into the background, and without a word, he leaves the club.

Kuroko grows transparent but holds on. He stops doing his homework just so the principal takes him in to talk. He starts causing problems and hopes the counsellor picks him up.

He does the stupidest things because that’s how people will  _ remember _ him and his presence, however vanishing, stays solid a little longer. He’s desperate.

He’s desperate for time. Time he doesn’t have enough of, before he finally melts completely and lives in the shadows as an actual, actual ghost. 

-

Just like that, their last year as a club ends.

With Akashi changed, bonds fractured and gears no longer joined, they parted ways. Leaving things half empty and unfulfilled, they separated, and went their own ways. 

It’s not without reason. Their basketball prowess as it was, those challenges became their only hook to life. If they all went to the same high school-- all of them knew that eventually, they would never enjoy basketball again.

They wanted challenges. Excitement, trials, and fun struggles-- just so they could forget this terrible thing happening in the background. So they could all pretend that this game wasn’t happening to them.

So they join different schools, knowing that the next time they meet, it would be on a court.

They continue playing basketball because it’s what brought them all together. They don’t stop loving basketball because maybe that’s the only thing they have left.

Kuroko watches their games, their sunken eyes, and remembers a promise he’d given Momoi so long ago.

Inside his chest, deep in the boils of his core-- he feels a churning that reminds him of the emotions he didn’t think he had left. 

An overwhelming, overpowering sensation, for his friends, _ for all of them, for basketball, for the world, for their bond,  _ for their-- for  _ everything _ . It’s an emotion that still exists in him-- something, the only thing the shadows haven’t taken away from him.

Kuroko realizes that it’s  _ love _ .

He recognizes it, and it strikes him that he  _ can _ still feel, after all. There’s a heart in his chest that still beats with, of all emotions,  _ love _ . He knows that there’s nothing he can do to stop this beautiful pain in his chest from going away. 

And above everything else he has lost so far, he desperately, desperately, doesn’t want it to go away. 

So Kuroko attends Seirin High School, and despite everything, he soldiers on. 


	4. a new start.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko enters Seirin.
> 
> Things don't change.

** _KISE:_ **

My new school is huuuuuuuuuge!!!

o(*≧□≦)o might get lost here

wbu, Kurkocchi?   
Is Seirin tiny or norm (ﾟ▽ﾟ｀*)?

U really shuldve come w/me

** _KUROKO_ ** : 

Seirin is quite normal.

And I can’t, we decided to go    
to different schools, Kise-kun. 

** _AOMINE:_ **

Godfuck, Kise, type properly.

** _MIDORIMA_ ** : 

For the sake of Kuroko,    
Aomine, stop swearing.

** _KUROKO_ ** :

Me?

I think we should be more   
concerned for Murasakihana-kun.

Murasakibara**

** _MIDORIMA:_ **

Ah yes, my mistake.

** _KISE_ ** :

I am proper I am alwys propr

?(ο´･д･)??? Aomncchi is the 1   
that says the bad bad words

Gnna tell Akshicchi !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

** _AOMINE_ ** :

Go drink bleach Kise

** _KISE:_ **

WHY

** _MIDORIMA_ ** :

Be careful going through crowds, Kuroko. 

Wouldn’t want you to get lost   
And not be able to sign up for   
The club on time.

** _KUROKO_ ** :

I appreciate the concern,   
I will try not to get trampled.

Have a good first day as well,   
Midorima-kun.

  
  


* * *

Kuroko tucks his phone back into his pocket, ignoring the chime as Kise’s incoherent stream of emoji ambush the notifications bar again. 

Yawning, he covers his mouth and picks a book out of his bag, turning to a bookmarked page and sliding his finger across the page. 

He walks into Seirin High School.

-

“You were part of the Generation of Miracles?” the Captain asks again during their break, still in disbelief, “like, no offense, but-- you can barely keep up.”

Kuroko nods, unaffected. Being underestimated was normal for him, and his lack of capability to keep up was truth. 

“I’d honestly imagined them to be like monsters,” another first year says, then fumbles, “of course, no offense intended! I meant it like--”

“Well, last time we saw them, they really  _ did _ seem that way,” Koganei has to admit, making dramatic actions to emphasize his point, “we saw them coming out of the stadium sometime last year, and they had this  _ crazy _ aura. Like, are they seriously Junior High Students??”

A pause.

“Compared to that, Kuroko is… normal,” they conclude, almost disappointed to find that out for the third time today. 

Kuroko doesn’t blame them for not believing him. But there’s nothing he can do until they play a practice match against him, so he keeps quiet.

“To think that all those monsters are all over the place now,” the Captain shudders at the thought, “this year’s Inter-High will be crazy.”

Koganei nods grimly, agreeing.

“Uhm,” Kuroko’s voice lifted, catching their attention, “could you refrain from referring to them as monsters?”

There is unmistakable ice in his stoical tone, and everyone whirls to him, alarmed. They see his stoical eyes and somehow-- his gaze, though mostly blank and unemotional, seems a little scarier than before.

“Y- Yeah,” the Captain quickly corrects himself, bowing shortly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. It was… rude of me.”

It had honestly been intended as a harmless comparison. But maybe calling people names was rude, no matter the context.

Still, does Kuroko have to glare like that?

-

Kuroko is an oddball, and everyone knows that. From his unexpected basketball skills, to the way he simply vanishes when you blink. Kagami never realizes there was another person in the seat behind him before Kuroko tells him bluntly.

There was nothing you could read on him, not a smile or even boredom, nothing.  Kuroko walks with steps so silent, it’s like his heels are made of cloth to muffle noise. Kagami smells nothing on him-- not strength, not weakness, not complacency.

Kuroko is simply  _ empty _ , and if he weren’t tangible Kagami may have doubts that he existed in the first place.Kagami links his existence to a phantom, and it fits so well he simply doesn’t want to try again to make sure of it.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of really register and accept him, so he assimilates himself into their lives and finds himself a place among the first years of the basketball club.

Kagami watches him join them for practice, and the amount of comfort he feels with the boy by his side-- that’s unsettling. It’s like Kuroko knows exactly what to do so he can fit in to a new crowd quickly. He’s absorbed into their friendship like ink on paper. 

It doesn’t even feel unnatural, but Kagami realizes it’s happening. He’s never made faster friends in his life.

-

Kagami plays a one-on-one with the estranged, apparently miraculous existence known as Kuroko Tetsuya, and he’s disappointed.

The boy is slow and probably worse than the other first years when it came to the basics. He can’t make a shot to save his life. Sometimes he dribbles and he actually messes  _ that _ up. What, did his hands have holes? How are his fingers slipping through the ball like that?

The lights in the street court all flicker at the same time.

Kuroko feints past Kagami and the ball goes in.

They both pause, and Kagami doesn’t understand why Kuroko looks so horrified at his own hands. He’s managed to slip past in a moment of distraction-- unfair move, but in streetball, that was perfectly fine.

“So you  _ can _ shoot,” Kagami groans, exasperated. Maybe it was a lucky shot. After all, it happened when the view wasn’t clear. Everyone’s had that moment--

“That didn’t count,” Kuroko talks over him and his tone is low and dire, like he’s spitting at a horribly drawn stickman he can’t wait to rub out. His hands fisted at his side, “sorry, let’s not include that in our score. One more time?”

Kagami is a little confused. Was he feeling reserved about kind-of cheating? He really didn’t need to. Japanese people were weird.

“Whatever, then,” he doesn’t want to think much of it. One more time it is, not that a lucky shot will come again.

-

“I’ll be your shadow. And I’ll make you number one in Japan, Kagami-kun.”

The boy says it so easily, as if he’s said this as a rehearsed line. Kagami finds it horrifying, how the boy could say such cheesy things all while keeping up his eternal poker face. It was honestly quite incredible in itself.

Kagami doesn’t know how to respond. It isn’t every day he comes face with this scenario, after all-- there’s no guidebook on how to most accurately respond to this situation.

So instead, Kagami says, “could you tell me one thing?” Kuroko lifts his head, and Kagami asks, “...why?”

That catches Kuroko off guard, but it’s exactly how Kagami knows he’s asked the right question. Kuroko’s words hide more than what he’s telling, that much was clear.

Kagami stares at the boy, watching the light on his face angle through with each car that crosses them. The smaller boy doesn’t look up.

Kagami’s fist is closed at his side, and he has half a mind to take his question back. Maybe it was far more than personal. Maybe Kuroko hesitates because something, something is wrong and it’s a story too far away to go through now.

When Kuroko finally speaks, his eyes are glazed over, as if he doesn’t really see things happening. His tone is stoic and uncomfortably even-- Kagami shakes off a misconception of the boy being a robot.

“They’re lost,” he speaks, as if about the weather, “so I’m trying to give them a road, so they can start somewhere.”

Kuroko waits a moment for Kagami to understand, before he continued.

“They’ve all made it to the top, so they’re no longer sure where to go,” Kuroko says again, looking at Kagami-- Kagami flinches because there’s a  _ ghost _ of a smile on his features-- “now I want to drag them down, so they can start climbing a new mountain.”

When Kagami heard of the Generation of Miracles, he thought they would be lined up side by side, and their strength could resound for miles. They would be fearsome alone and much more so together. They would be so overwhelming that Kagami would be floored, and he would enjoy it.

Kuroko speaks of them as the children, as the high school kids people seemed to forget they were. Monsters, prodigies… Kuroko saw them as  _ aimless _ , and in need of guidance? How unusual.

The blue-haired boy wears a soft look in his eyes as he spoke of them, just a tiny bit different from his usual solid look. (Kagami himself only notices the difference because he  _ saw  _ it morph. The subtlety of this boy’s expressions was off-putting.) 

“Will you help me, Kagami-kun?”

Kagami doesn’t understand this boy-- he was so unreadable, after all. But if there is any one thing Kagami understands, it would be the little spark of determination in those eyes.

Those are eyes of a man willing to do anything for  _ family _ \-- and Kagami’s felt that just as strongly as anyone else in this world.

Kagami says yes, and maybe it’s fine that they still don’t know everything about each other. They can get somewhere from now on, after all.


	5. it's just as usual.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midorima doesn't like new people.
> 
> He doesn't understand why this Takao guy sticks around.

**You may have the power, but if you’re too tense about everything, you’ll fail! Today’s the kind of day that will go smoothly if you just relax and let it flow. **

As usual, Oha-Asa is unexplainably accurate. 

With Cancer down in the bottom half of the ranking today, Midorima has his lucky item, a potted plant, in his hand while he goes to school. He wasn’t taking any risks. He never does.

His first weeks of being alone, away from the others-- it’s foreign, but he’ll never admit it scares him. Everyone’s staying strong, even Momoi. Of course, he will too.

He’s old enough to not need to stick along with his friends for everything. 

“Flip a coin! Heads or Tails?”

Midorima tries his best not to flinch when he’s shot with that sudden question the second he comes into the gym. What brings? 

The one that speaks is a third-year, a starter. Midorima doesn’t know his name, doesn’t bother to get to know it. He has a hand out, palms down over the other-- oh, right, a coin flip.

Midorima doesn’t have a chance to respond. Behind him, an annoyingly cheerful voice pipes up a choice for himself, “Tails!”

It’s like the senior completely looks past Midorima and bundles them up as a package deal. He shows the coin, and it turns up as Heads.

“Too bad,” the senior says with an even tone, “both of you lose, so… you’re in Miyaji’s team,” he pockets the coin and jabs a thumb in the direction of said blond. A moment later, he clarifies, “yeah, coach is out so we’re splitting for a practice match against each other. Hurry on now.”

Midorima winces. He’s on a team with Miyaji-senpai? Midorima knows awfully well that all the seniors dislike him with a passion. He expected it, after all, it was almost the same in Teiko. People in Teiko were just less expressive about it because Murasakibara was around and  _ his hand was big enough to crush heads _ .

Now that Midorima was alone, people don’t see him as much of a threat on his own. They let their judgement fly as broadly as they can without actually dirtying their hands. This was a famed school, after all. They were fair and noble in all but their hearts.

Teiko was the same.

Teiko was the same, except now, Midorima is alone in all this.

(No, I’m not at all upset about it.)

“Awwwhh!” the boy behind him whines, like his last candy was confiscated, “again?”

“Can’t help it, it’s the start of the school year, coach gets a ton of paperwork at this time.”

Midorima holds back a sigh at the thought. They lacked a manager for a club as big as this one, which was very odd. If Momoi was around, paperwork would be less than nonexistent before it even reached the trainer’s table.

(No, Midorima doesn’t miss his old school. What is he, a kid?)

“C’mon, Midorima-kun! Let’s go!”

Midorima hisses when a hand latches onto his elbow, and drags him forward. He’s not a fan of physical contact, but the movement is so abrupt he’s moving forward before he pulls back. 

But that wasn’t a long drag. It was a tug, so when Midorima shrinks away from the boy, the intruding hand is gone from his arm, and his target is on his way to the locker room. His seniors are also urging him to be quick about changing, so Midorima shakes his head and keeps up.

_ Just relax and let it flow,  _ he reminds himself.

So when he takes a pass and raises it above his head, eyes slanted so naturally toward the basket, letting the red blur sharpen into focus-- pull back, breathe in, and release with a sharp shove forward.

For a second, he hears the rattle, clatter and click of a roulette. Like a dice, it’s a sharp bump of wood against wood. The ball folds through the net like everyone expects. Midorima hears the ringing bells of a winning roll.

He sighs, because that’s nothing new.

He fixes his glasses, and lets his teammates call ‘nice ball!’ before returning to formation. And so begins another round. They would do this again, until the captain calls for a break, then they’ll begin their individual practice drills.

Midorima takes another perfect shot. And another. And another. 

It’s too high of an arc, and although some people call it silly, they stop laughing when they realize that’s exactly why the Center can’t block it.

Murasakibara could, sometimes. 

Maybe no one else can.

Maybe that’s why he’s so bored of this. Maybe that’s why Murasakibara never liked basketball. Maybe Murasakibara’s reached this level of insufficient  _ accomplishment _ long ago, and that was why basketball wasn’t fun to him.

Maybe that’s why basketball wasn’t so fun anymore. He’d always quarrel with that purple giant for this very reason. Now he was empathizing? How ridiculous.

Midorima looks at his lucky item again, feeling the bite of anxiety churning in his stomach.

(He wonders if basketball is even worth it anymore.)

(No, they promised to play again, for some reason. It was Akashi’s suggestion, after all-- even after  _ that _ happened to him, they didn’t know who else to follow.)

(They only had basketball left, after all.)

Later between practice, he learns that the boy--  _ that black haired boy with the vibrancy of a fake Kise but the dim light of a determined Kuroko _ \-- had a name, and it was apparently Takao. 

If he decides to remember it, however-- well, he isn’t going to brag about it.

-

Midorima isn’t usually a forgetful person, but he’s surprised to find that Takao is actually in his class. He doesn’t admit it, though. He just didn’t see Takao as an individual he should be keeping tabs on. That’s all.

This new school was much like his old one. Everyone gives odd looks to the guy who holds weird things and carries them around, but if Midorima tells them that he feels uneasy without them, they stare at him like something in his head is wrong.

It’s rude, but to them, maybe it’s justified.

Midorima knows that they will never understand. No one ever did. No one needs to. 

They can think Midorima is a weirdo. Midorima can pretend that it doesn’t bother him. Midorima can (has to) act like he’s fine, because there’s no Aomine around to threaten biting people’s heads off anymore. 

“Midorima-kun, look at this! I found it in the locker room.”

Takao starts talking to him in class. Seems like he’s found a magazine where the five of them were featured (five. They forgot Kuroko again, huh?) and was eager to know how much was true and how much was sensationalized.

Midorima isn’t as eager to entertain him.

Their names in magazines only dish out praise after praise of what people think they are. They’re a show, made to sell. It’s a list of what they’re worth, and a reminder of what they still have.

“It’s old news,” Midorima only says.

“But this is like, three months ago,” Takao doesn’t quite understand.

It depicts a time where they could still enjoy the little trials and errors, those are pictures of a smile they used to have. That they don’t have now.

Midorima sighs heavily, chest heaving out the air like it’s a weight he can’t just shrug off. Takao looks like he wants to interrogate him, but he hums instead, as if acknowledging that they weren’t at the ‘pester him all day’ stage of friendship yet.

He doesn’t understand why Takao would stick to him.

It reminded him of the rest of the Teiko Basketball club. Met by coincidence, stayed for convenience.

Midorima believes in fate. He believes in a predestined course of events. Not exactly scientific, but a more psychological tuning that ensured history would always, without fail, repeat itself.

Midorima doesn’t want to get closer to Takao.

He doesn’t want to build himself a new set of friends only to watch something else happen to them. (nothing will. They’re not friends, anyways.) He doesn’t want to find a place only to see it burn. What if the curse is infectious? (He doesn’t play the game, don’t be stupid) What if it is because they’re separated now? (No, not possible, even Nijimura isn’t affected by it and he played the game before.)

What if Midorima finally messes up and his skill kills him?

(Flashing lights. Ripped skin. A blaring horn. A loud crash. Shattered glass.)

“Midorima-kun?” Takao says, and there’s a hint of concern in the confusion.

Midorima returns to the world, fixes his glasses.

He breathes.

“It’s nothing.”

-

Takao is as persistent as a clingbug, Midorima realizes. Kind of disgusting and it won’t get off. 

Midorima tries to shrug the boy off him because  _ why is this boy so touchy? _ Midorima isn’t a great fan of so much skin contact, but a part of being internally dishonest is the inherent ability to not be able to speak the truth.

For the first time in a horribly long moment, he thinks Oha Asa is wrong.

He lets things go with the flow, and he ends up with this baggage of a classmate that steps in his shadow and laughs. How annoying.

(I’m relieved, Midorima-kun. You made a friend.)

(You have not been listening, Kuroko. I said he was a nuisance, not a  _ friend _ .)

Midorima tries not to get too close. Shows up late to practice, ignores Takao when he speaks, acts selfish in practice, and does not give himself viable social connections. Everything is for the benefit of the club.

Midorima doesn’t understand.

Instead of ostracising him, they cling closer. Sends Takao as a gopher on Midorima-duty, and the boy pops up no matter  _ where _ Midorima goes. It’s like a tracker is stuck on him and only Takao knows where it’s hidden. 

They see he’s selfish, and instead of putting a stop to it, they let him do it. Three times a day, even. What are they, the Buddha? No, they just want him around because of his three pointers. They’re tolerating him.

(They’re trying to make you feel belonged, Midorin! I’m glad your club members are so nice. You’re in good hands, I’m glad.)

(Momoi, you’re speaking nonsense.)

Even through the phone, he can hear the two shortest of their group giggle soundlessly. They always did that.

Midorima coughs, and pretends he isn’t embarrassed.

-

** _KISE:_ **

Midorimacchi o(≧∇≦o)

How’s class on ur end   
Is it boring cos ur school’s   
Kinda elite like akashicchi

(҂⌣̀_⌣́) wondering if ur   
As bord as I am rn 

** _MIDORIMA:_ **

Die.

** _KISE:_ **

WHAT DID I DO 

** _AOMINE:_ **

Shut up, Kise

** _MOMOI:_ **

Ki-chan, it’s still class   
hours on your end!! (╬ Ò ‸ Ó)   
you should be paying attention    
to your math teacher. 

** _AOMINE:_ **

You can send text messages   
When you’re asleep??? wtf

** _MURASAKIBARA:_ **

You guys are noisy

** _KUROKO:_ **

Kise-kun,    
please be quiet during class.

** _KISE:_ **

WHY JUST ME

** _AOMINE:_ **

Satsuki, wake up ur   
Phone’s ringin like mad   
Kise shut up

** _KISE:_ **

WHY ARE ALL OF YOU ON    
YOUR PHONES TOO THEN

…

NO REPLY????


	6. he is, but not really.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kise isn't holding up well.
> 
> But part of being professional is not letting anyone know that.

Kise is a model, but his acting was commendable, too. Not that he could tell anyone much of that, really. 

“Sorry I’m late! Did I make it?”

Obviously, he did. He’s only asking for the sake of it, plastering on that smile and hobbling into the gym with steadier steps than he wants to take.

He smiles and greets the coach, and then when someone (someone, he can’t remember their names, he doesn’t think he’ll bother) welcomes him and hustles him to get changed, he greets them too.

He wants to go home and conk out. He has the rest of the day off otherwise, but for the sake of appearances, he can’t skimp out on club.

He knows that they find him obnoxious. He’s busy, he’s popular, he’s talented in everything-- who wouldn’t spite him? Kise is going to stick out here alone from now on, so he has to build a decent relationship base. He has to set himself a nice place to be, even if it’s a falsely structured corner.

He’s exhausted.

He looks in the mirror while he’s changing, and he sees a perfect man. His reflection is an illusion of himself, and he knows because that scar, that one scar at the base of his neck, it’s not there.

This person in the mirror is so healthy. So stable and unbroken. It’s the image of the Kise Ryouta everyone wants to see.

The real Kise Ryouta can just continue to rot away somewhere, where no one can see him, under the illusion and on his own. No one wants him here--

“Hey, Kise,” and he flinches.

He realizes Kasamatsu-senpai is at the door, and he’s staring at the blond with something like a cross of irritation and concern.

“Huh? Kasamatsu-senpai?” Kise sounds surprised and confused to see him there, because shouldn’t he be outside supervising the rest of the club? “What’re you doing in here? Peeping at me while I change?”

At that last joking remark, Kasamatsu flushes in an almost furious(ly adorable) manner, and he blows, “NO!”

He raises a fist threateningly, as if he’s almost at the point of punch-and-leave. Kise braces himself for the impact.

Instead, Kasamatsu huffs. “You know you don’t have to come every day, right?”

“Huh?” Kise says before he can stop himself, an eyebrow raised and a disbelieving gawk in his expressions. 

He frowns at his own show of emotions (how does Kurokocchi manage to completely hide his emotions? Even Kise can’t do that.) 

So to cover his own slip-up, he lets out a laugh, “what are you talking about, Kasamatsu-senpai, you always tell the juniors they shouldn’t skip out on practice.”

Kasamatsu has his arms folded, and Kise doesn’t like the way he’s being stared at. He’s always being stared at-- like he’s an object ondisplay, like he’s an item on a glass casing made to be fancied-- Kasamatsu’s eyes study him, and Kise shifts his weight from one foot to the other, smiling through the deep discomfort in his senses.

“You’re different,” Kasamatsu finally says, then barks as if he needs to emphasize this, “not because you’re a Generation of Miracle or whatever the heck! Your shitty fame has nothing to do with this and we love it when your fans aren’t around--”

Kasamatsu stops himself from rambling.

He points at Kise, “your-- I’m talking about your modelling job! You’re busy, right? You don’t have to make time for club every single day. It’s technically cutting into either your work or rest hours, right?”

Kise blinks, as if he can’t see the problem in that. 

Kasamatsu reads that in his expression and promptly bursts a vein, “I’m telling you not to overwork yourself, you gigantic scatterbrained-- dog!”

“ _ Dog  _ was uncalled for!” Kise whines automatically. Then, he registers, “wait, you’re... worried about me?”

-

Kasamatsu flinches at that, and for a second he isn’t sure if it’s out of embarrassment and denial, or if it was the sheer disbelief in Kise’s voice that made him double back. Did the idiot actually think no one in the club cared about his well-being?

Kasamatsu takes a second to compose himself before he goes at it again, “it’s common sense that if you’re going to be an athlete, you should always be in top form,” he shifts into a more captain-like approach, “it’s only natural that you shouldn’t come if it’s at the risk of your health.”

For a startling second, Kasamatsu can’t read a thing on Kise’s face. It’s a cross of understanding, consideration, and then irritation, before it shifts into a mildly bashful laugh. 

The shift happens so juttingly, it was like a buffer. As if the boy took a second to recalculate a reaction before he proceeded. Pause and Play.

“I’m a little embarrassed! Senpai, you’re looking out for me? You really don’t need to, I’m fine!” he acts like a humble underclassman that doesn’t want to worry his dear Captain. He flexes his arm in a show of determination, “I’m stronger than this!”

Kasamatsu tuts. He’s not too sure if it was a calculated response, but Kasamatsu now had no way of convincing the boy to take the rest of the day off.

Kise shrugs on a T-shirt and closes his locker. 

Kasamatsu sees no trace of dark circles on the boy’s eyes, but there’s a sag in those cheeks that were just tired. Tired in the same way his mother sometimes couldn’t hide-- that’s it. Is it makeup? Is Kise using concealer to hide his eye bags? 

It’s possible. There’s a drag in his body language-- subtle, but compared to his very first one-on-one with that punk, it is definitely there.

The moron is overworking himself, and the more Kasamatsu thought of it, the more he’s persistently irritated-- how dare that idiot shrug off the captain? 

He’s pretty sure he’s shoved respect down that kid’s throat already, should he do it again?

-

Kasamatsu opens the door to the nurse’s office, and is surprised to find Kise there, a towel stained in blood pressed against his face.

Panic swirls in his stomach for a sinking moment-- and he doesn’t realize he’s dropped the papers in his hands before the clipboard clangs against the tiles of the ground. 

He doesn’t pick it up. 

“Kise?” he hates how scared he sounds.

Half of the blond’s face is smeared with blood, and although he can’t see a wound, it’s fresh and looks like it’s just happened. Who would do this to him?

Kise turns away the instant he sees his upperclassman there, and from the movement Kasamatsu can tell he’s just nursing a bloody nose. Not a serious injury. No bruises. Maybe he got a heat stroke.

(Kise? No way.)

“Kasamatsu-kun, running errands for the Student Council?” 

Kasamatsu flinches when the nurse addresses him. (The implication is clear: don’t stare at a pretty boy who’s got a bloody nose, that’s rude!) He quickly crouches down to pick up his papers, straightens the pages, and retrieves a pen.

“Yeah,” he composes himself, stealing another glance at Kise as he steps forward, “there’s been an issue with the orders for medical supplies, so the President would like you to do another once-over just to make sure it’s right.”

Kise stands up and moves to the bed once the upperclassman gets too close. Kasamatsu keeps an eye on the boy-- and there’s a hurt in his eyes that Kasamatsu has never seen before.

It’s not as if Kise was always a smiling clown. There were times in basketball where his features would sharpen, like he’s focusing way too hard, like he can’t make a single mistake in his life.

However, Kasamatsu has never seen such genuine irritation in him yet. The eyes of a boy that’s messed up on something important, as if he’d been humiliated and sent to his room to reflect on his actions.

It was uncharacteristic of him.

Kise draws the curtains, and Kasamatsu turns back to the nurse as the signature is left on the paper and the board is handed back to him.

“Sorry to trouble you, ma’am.”

“Not a bother at all, Kasamatsu-kun. Thanks for your hard work.”

“Please excuse me.”

-

** _AKASHI:_ **

Please take care of your own health,   
Ryouta. Have you been resting well?

** _KISE:_ **

=͟͟͞͞( •̀д•́))) oooho akshicchi txtng me   
Dats suuuper rare oof 

Ive been busy!!! (ᗒᗩᗕ)՞ but still ok

** _AKASHI:_ **

Perhaps you should take time off club   
Or work. You are still a student, after all.

You are entitled to rest days.

** _KISE:_ **

Ur bein a mommy hen akshicchi ლ(｡-﹏-｡ ლ)

I can handle this much, its not like im Krkocchi

** _KUROKO:_ **

What are you implying, Kise-kun?

** _AOMINE:_ **

Hes not wrong though

** _MOMOI:_ **

AOMINE-KUN, DON’T BE MEAN o(-`д´- ｡)

** _KUROKO:_ **

I’m not weak.

** _AOMINE:_ **

Yes you are

_ **KUROKO:** _

No I’m not.

_ **AOMINE:** _

Yes you are

** _KUROKO:_ **

No.

** _AOMINE:_ **

Yes

** _KUROKO:_ **

No.

** _AOMINE:_ **

Yes

** _MIDORIMA:_ **

Did Kise die halfway through this convo

-

Kise collapses onto his couch. His sister groans at the intruding pair of legs, but doesn’t do much except shuffle to get comfortable.

“Don’t sleep there,” his other sister calls from the kitchen, “Nao, drag him to his room!”

“No, he’s stupidly huge!”

“He’s stupid, yes, but you’re stronger.”

“Last time I hauled him around, you said I was ruining his pretty face.”

“I told you to take him to his room, not drag him upstairs by his foot.”

At this point, Kise really doesn’t care what his sisters do to him. He just needs sleep. They understand-- after all, they were the ones that drew him into this modeling work.

Though, when he wakes up, he’ll probably ask to get time off modeling. He’ll have to spend more time in the club if he doesn’t want Kasamatsu to get too nosey into his business. People always jump to conclusions and they’re a pain in the ass.

(Though, they’re not exactly wrong. But Kise’s too far gone to tell them how sick he really is. They’d think it was weird how he was completely normal until now.)

He’s sure the people at Zunon Boy will understand. They’ve been wanting to give him more breaks anyways…

His phone rings.

He realizes he’s on his bed, and the room is completely dark. 

It’s four in the morning, and panic fills him. He was supposed to be up an hour ago! Maybe if he rushed, he could make it out of the door before the van pulls into his house-- or maybe the van’s already here? Yeah it probably is--

He draws the curtains. It isn’t.

His phone rings again, so he turns to it, finding a message from-- Momoi?

“Check your messages--” Kise reads it out and promptly blanches in disbelief, “obvious I have to-- wait, could it be?”

A horrifying thought takes him. His hands move to the rest of his messages before he can really set the suspicion into a coherent thought--

“I don’t remember sending these!” he freaks out at the entire conversation log between him and his magazine director.

It features an entirely heated discussion regarding his work hours and ends with a civilised reduction of his workload. He apparently has no work until Friday now.

It’s definitely Momoi’s work. She rules the world inside technology, after all-- hacking into one phone and posing as Kise through the messaging system would be a piece of cake for that girl.

It’s not as if Kise doesn’t appreciate it, but he hates it when she does that without going through Kise beforehand.

It’s like they’re making decisions for him. Telling him what he can and can’t do.

Kise doesn’t like being handled.

But he doesn’t tell them that. They’re just worried for him, after all. Maybe he’ll call up Momoi later and they can talk about it. 

But for now, sleep.


	7. not so quickly, not yet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaijou vs Seirin happens, and Kuroko isn't too happy with what he sees. 
> 
> so Aomine comes to the rescue instead.

**╔═══════════════╗**

**『DOPPELGANGER』is near you!**

**╚═══════════════╝**

When Kuroko’s phone rings, everyone turns their eyes to them. It’s essentially Aida-regulated law to put phones on silent during practice. 

Kuroko was in for a whiplash once whatever that was is over-- but instead, Kuroko’s eyes brighten considerably at what’s on his screen.

A noise swirls their attention to the front of the gym, and there was the talk of the day, Kise Ryouta.

“It’s been so long, Kurokocchi!!”

“You messaged me just yesterday.”

Kise makes a point of hugging Kuroko every time they meet. It’s unsettling, how it takes him a moment to actually find him even when he’s searching as strongly as he can. He thinks that the moment he lets go, Kuroko would vanish.

Though, Kuroko can probably just step an inch aside and it’ll have the same effect. Kise wasn’t taking any chances.

“You look well! Though you’re as invisible as ever,” he says the last bit a little softer, “I missed you! I was worried that I wouldn’t find you!”

Kuroko unwittingly lets Kise cling to him, not because he likes it (in fact he hates this) but because of what he sees.

There was something in Kuroko’s eyes that never lets Kise fool him.

Behind the wimpy, slightly crybaby demeanor in this annoying clingy blond, was a face full of worry, a gaze looking him up and down and trying to make sure he’s tangible, make sure he’s _ there _\-- there’s a deep fear in his stiff body language.

He feels the thick, warm hands on his shoulders-- but Kuroko sees the bone in those fingers, the desperate gripe and the sickly complexion.

_ You don’t look so well, _ he wants to say. _ You don’t look like you should be playing basketball today. _ The wind can blow him over and make him catch a cold and this isn’t just anyone, this is _ Kise _.

Kuroko doesn’t say it.

He watches Kagami, the fool, challenge Kise-- and he lets Kise take the challenge. He lets Kise taunt his teammates and call them weak. Because everyone, compared to the others, were weak.

“I really don’t get it, Kurokocchi,” and Kise has always been like that. He’s been so expressive yet so cold by nature. “I get why the others wanted to attend different schools, but you’re different. You should’ve followed one of us.”

Kuroko doesn’t respond. He just holds his upperclassman back from their rising tempers. 

Kise rarely cared for anything outside of himself and the other miracles, “don’t you understand? Why can’t you understand? If you disappear on us again--”

“Kise-kun,” Kuroko says, and this time it’s in a deeply warning tone.

Kise clamps his mouth shut.

-

**╔═══════════════╗**

**『DENIZEN』is near you!**

**╚═══════════════╝**

“Hey, Kise, I’ve told you time and again to _ shut _ your phone off!”

Kise only laughs when Kasamatsu scolds him. He tosses an apology over his shoulder as he excuses himself to lead the Seirin team to the gym.

If there was anything great about the stupid game that couldn’t be deleted, it was the fact that it always told them when another one of them was nearby.

It sucks that the alarm system overrides his phone’s, though. He could really do with a mute function.

When they play after that, a lot of things happen.

It’s been a while since basketball was the forefront of his worries-- somehow, Kise understands fully how great it feels to lose. How great it feels to not be entirely perfect. How great it feels to always have a weakness and always be seen through no matter how hard he tries.

Kuroko was really his kryptonite, after all.

-

“We’re-- I’m _ scared _ for you, Kurokocchi,” and Kise doesn’t hide the weakness in his voice for once, “I didn’t even _ see _ you there. For a second I completely _ forgot _ about you. The more you play like that the more I just-- I just-- Kurokocchi…”

“Kise-kun,” Kuroko’s at his side, a hand warming the taller’s cheek-- he looks straight into his eyes, almost never blinking, and he breathes in-- then out. “Calm down.”

Immediately, everything shatters.

Kise’s eyes fade from that sickening yellow into a dull hazel. Suddenly there’s a sag under his eyes and a scar on his neck he can’t hide. There’s a sheer thinness to him that he can’t hide and a droop in his knees like he can’t hold himself up.

“I don’t want you to disappear,” and Kise sounds so hurt, so scared-- Kuroko’s gaze softens on him.

“Speak for yourself,” Kuroko whispers, but he can’t look at him when he says it.

“I’m not the one that’s going to fade.”

“I’m not the one that looks like a malnourished twig.”

Kise laughs, and it sounds like a strangled choke. He can’t help but sit down, leaning into Kuroko’s hand on his cheek and for a moment he just closes his eyes and enjoys it. It’s not often, after all.

Then it’s back up. His skin is fresh and peachy again, and his hands actually look like they have meat in them. He smiles, and it’s a sensational expression that gets all the girls out into the yard. 

“I don’t like that mask, you know,” Kuroko says, and Kise doesn’t care.

“No one does,” Kise admits easily.

They’re silent a moment longer, and Kuroko finally takes his hand away from Kise’s face. Kise looks at him like he’s something precious, and he doesn’t want to ever need to tear his eyes away from--

“Kagami reminds you of Aominecchi, doesn’t he?” Kise says, and Kuroko involuntarily flinches, “if all that didn’t happen. Y’know, he kinda makes me think that, maybe that’s how _ he _ would’ve turned out if he didn’t get...”

“Kise-kun,” Kuroko lifts his gaze, sounding hurt and annoyed all the same, “I’m not trying to replace Aomine-kun.”

Kise pauses. Because was that what he was implying? Maybe it was.

“You know, Kurokocchi,” Kise says, almost unapologetic, “maybe there’s a world out there where all of us aren’t completely fucked up.”

Kuroko tries to answer, but Kagami comes flying in with a punch and the rest of their conversation is filled with exasperated snapbacks.

-

-

-

They all have bad days.

For Kise, it comes the day after they lose against Seirin in a practice match. And maybe being in a different school from the others wasn’t such a great idea after all.

His eyes crank open and it needs the energy of thousands just to focus. His head is heavy, something is uncomfortably hot under his neck.

He’s so sticky with sweat and it hurts. His body feels like one numb organ and there’s a swell in his chest that’s heavy and thick and hard to breathe through.

It’s bearable, but it makes him not want to get up.

He turns over in bed, and he groans, unable to will himself any further movement. The phone’s ringing but it’s too far away for him to bother. The light of the alarm clock tells him he’s late for school but he can’t find it in himself to care.

His eyes close and there’s nothing he really wants to do, so he sleeps.

When he wakes up, his sister is beside him and there’s a cold weight on his forehead that’s probably a fever patch. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have an appetite to eat anything. Doesn’t have the energy to _ be _ anything.

He just closes his eyes and waits for a reason.

-

He gets up after a while. 

It’s dark out there, his hand is on his shoulder, his nails are in his skin, as usual. It’s fine if it scars, he thinks, there’s already one there, what’s another?

Either way so, it’ll disappear if he uses his skill. Anything he does can disappear if he just transforms into the perfect version of Kise Ryouta that everyone knows.

No one needs to know this sickly, bony mess of a human underneath it all.

His nails are packed with dried blood and they’re disgusting but he doesn’t care. His shirt has bits of red because there are new caverns in his skin and the wound stings, might get infected, and well, does it matter, really? Not like anyone’s ever going to see it.

“Kise.”

He jumps.

Looks up.

And there, in his room, is Aomine, standing there like he’s supposed to be there in the first place. They stare at each other, a similar amount of contempt and judgement in each other’s eyes and Kise looks away because _ not again _.

In the next second he’s no longer in his room.

He’s in a blue world of skyscrapers and cement and buildings that don’t end. He’s in a world that makes no less sense than himself right now.

Aomine has his hand now, reaching up to curl his shirt over his chest to expose most of the wound. There’s a frown on his face and a lecture on his tongue, but he doesn’t make it known. Kise hears it anyways.

There’s disinfectant and bandages beside them, and Kise isn’t sure when they appeared. Aomine’s dream world never did make sense-- things just happened when the boy wanted it to happen. It didn’t have to be logical.

Kise watches and lets Aomine clean his wound, wrap it up-- and he doesn’t even wince when the disinfectant burns through his injury.

Aomine doesn’t say anything.

Kise doesn’t like it. He just wants to be alone and be empty and be in the corner and not be pampered for once. He’s fine in his room rotting away until the emptiness goes away, he’s fine.

He’s fine.

“You’re not,” Aomine says in return.

Kise just curls up and cries.

-

He’s fine again the next time he wakes up. He puts on his happy mask, looks healthier than he’s ever felt-- and if there’s anyone that asks, they’ll say it was a sudden cold.

That’s how it is. That’s how it has to be.

That’s what they’ve all decided for it to be-- quiet, hidden under the blanket, tucked behind the curtains. They shouldn’t let the normal people into this world-- because what if they end up caught in between? 

There’s a pool of fire in his chest and a sick of bile that’s always in his throat. 

He breathes, and the face in the mirror changes. For the him that never sees the world, hell has always been there and won’t go away just yet.

But for the rest of the world, life goes on.


	8. a solace to be.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aomine watches.
> 
> And he keeps watching, because he wants to be there when someone falls.

**╔═══════════════╗**

**『CYBER SURFER』is near you!**

**╚═══════════════╝**

Aomine is worried. 

He’s always worried, how can he  _ not _ be worried when the entire crowd of his friends are selfless morons? 

Momoi joined Touou with him, so he could always keep an eye on her. Kise was different. Kise was alone in Kaijou (goddamit Tetsu, we did say to do whatever you want but couldn’t you have gone with him?) and he’s the worst when it comes to self-care, contrary to popular belief.

“Aomine-kun, Ki-chan got angry at me again!” 

And here she comes, exactly twenty seconds after the notification warns him. Aomine yawns, stretching, but not getting up from his spot at the back of the stage.

Momoi’s run straight to him from the gym doors, so there were eyes on them as Momoi cries dramatically.

Aomine groans, “you hacked into his phone again, didn’t you? He already told you he hated it when you do that, so you brought this upon yourself.”

“But, I’m worried for him, you should really see him sometimes, I--”

“ _ And _ you hacked the webcam on his PC. Kise rarely gets angry at anyone, but you always push the right buttons, Satsuki,” Aomine facepalms, getting up to scowl at the girl, “I’m surprised he still associates with you.”

“I don’t wanna hear that from you!” Momoi sobs louder, and Imayoshi is starting to make his way over. Aomine scratches the back of his head. 

-

Aomine really hated his powers. Not the practical aspect of it, but the aftereffects.

Every power had some sort of price. For Murasakibara, it was nutrients. For Momoi, it was sleep. For Aomine, it was aspiration.

Momoi had once called him a ‘depressed fuck’ as a meme joke, but she really couldn’t have been more right. Aomine was, in some definition of it, eternally depressed. The more he used his abilities, the less he could  _ dream _ .

And to fill up on it, the game saps the dreams of people around him, making them lose _ their  _ aspirations-- and ruins them forever so Aomine could keep functioning.

He was a living corpse, being fed by the werewolf of his curse.

(How could he not hate it?)

And the hunger, oh, the unbearable hunger. His avatar was a werewolf, and as the stories go, they attacked and devoured humans like feral beasts. 

Every time Momoi comes a little closer than she should, he smells the flowery aroma of her perfume, and his mouth waters. One day he fears he would succumb to those desires, and Momoi, the closest to him, would be the first victim.

(How laughable. He's  _ scared _ .)

-

Aomine controls the land of dreams, but his own land is empty. 

He stands atop a skyscraper in a land of nothing but skyscrapers. The sky had no clouds, and there was no bottom. Would there be a ground if he jumped down? It was pitch black after a dozen windows, and Aomine sometimes wanted to just take a leap to see what could happen. Surely he can’t die in a dream.

There are many things he can do in the land of dreams-- he can summon a soul in with him. He can sit and ponder upon life, never to be disturbed. He can call upon a game console he doesn’t own, and play all night long, never truly sleeping.

“What are you doing here, Midorima?”

There, dressed in that horrid orange jersey, standing in a corner of the world, was Midorima. He just looks into the scenery, and doesn’t quite respond as coherently as he thinks.

Sometimes, the others can wander in. Tetsu comes in frequently during class hours just to curl up in an imaginarily huge plush toy to catch some rest. Akashi comes in for some peace and quiet to ponder, and Kise is summoned every time he does something stupid and pushes himself too hard.

But Midorima-- Midorima only comes in for one reason.

“Rolled a bad one today?” Aomine asks, sitting down beside the boy.

Midorima nods, and his hands are trembling. He doesn’t move for a long time. He doesn’t talk, because their relationship isn’t one like that.

Aomine and Midorima were never a close group-- sure, they were friends, a strange mix of polar opposites, just like Kise and Kuroko or Murasakibara and Akashi. But Midorima and Aomine were a little different. They were not as close.

But  _ understanding _ , that they had. They had a connection, similar but unlike the one Aomine had with Kuroko. Maybe it was because their powers could both drive them mad, yet they couldn’t survive without it. 

“I tried to ask Takao to get my lucky item, but then my phone was out of battery,” Midorima muttered softly, his words sharp, quick, and so frantic, “then I knocked over my monitor and I’m not sure if it shattered, but I don’t think I should pick it up to check. If I touch anything in reality now, I just-- I just know it’s going to break.”

It’s rare to find Midorima acting this vulnerable.

Aomine’s noticed this too-- in his dream world, emotions were easier to spill, and weakness was easier to show. Even Kise was like that-- because though lying was second nature to all of them, no one could lie in their heart.

Ah, he sounded like such a sap.

“What was it this time?” he asks, and when Midorima casts him a strange look, he clarifies, “your lucky item.”

Midorima sits down beside Aomine, their legs dangling over the edge of the skyscraper. Quite a tricky experience, not for the faint of heart.

“Hand cream,” he says.

Aomine sputters, “but you have plenty of that at home, don’t you?”

Midorima shakes his head, looking prominently flustered, “they ran out just yesterday. I had two more, but my mom took one to gift a colleague and my sister took the last one with her to school,” he tried to explain, “I was going to get more this morning…”

Aomine groans, running a hand through his hair before he said something wrong again, “oh, I get it, I get it!” he whines, “your bad luck days are just ridiculous, aren’t they?”

“I tried to get them online the night before and apparently I was out of credit on every card I had.”

“Stop that, I’m gonna start crying for you.”

With a wave of his hand, a little bottle of hand-cream materialized from the space, dropping right into Aomine’s hand. He tosses it to Midorima, who Aomine is fairly sure actually  _ sparkles _ at the sight of it.

“It isn’t the brand I usually use--”

“Oh shut it, Midorima! I don’t know shit about beauty prod--”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll take it, thanks.”

Aomine had whiplash.

-

“Aomine-kun!” Satsuki raises her voice, “you were asleep the  _ entire _ day!” 

Aomine groans, getting up from his spot on the roof, noting how the sun had already set. Oh well, time to go home.

“What even were you doing for so long in your dream world?” Momoi asks, “were you gaming? Or were you thinking again? We told you you’re not allowed to be left alone in your depressed mindset, right?”

Momoi was the only one in the group that couldn’t enter Aomine’s dreamscape. Whenever Momoi fell asleep, she would end up in her own cyberspace, alone. Aomine couldn’t summon her in, and she couldn’t wish herself to be in-- that was how it worked, apparently.

“We’re worried for your mental state as much as everyone is worried for Ki-chan’s, so I’ve told you time and again...” Momoi begins her lecture sharply, “...are you listening to me, Aomine-kun?!”

Aomine digs his ears, groaning in annoyance.

“Midorima rolled a one in twenty,” he says with another yawn, stretching, “he was convinced that if I left him alone the skyscrapers would start blowing up, so we just argued for like, twelve hours or something about how that wasn’t possible.”

Momoi squeaks again, “you could’ve come back for a second and told me!” she whines, “I was looking at Mukkun today-- oh, I should have checked on Midorin too…”

“Satsuki, if you keep hacking into everyone’s cameras, they’re going to start hating you.”

“Who, me? Oh, you make strange jokes, Aomine-kun, no one can hate me.”

And though satirical, she’s right. No one can hate her. They all adore her, just not anymore than everyone else.

And Aomine tries his best.


End file.
